


School Nemeses 2

by magog_83



Series: School Nemeses [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83/pseuds/magog_83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Arthur are archenemies.  Optimistic young teacher Miss Slater thinks she can do something about that. Modern school!au.  This one gives a little bit of history on Merlin and Arthur from Miss S's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	School Nemeses 2

**Author's Note:**

> Beta's by Vensre. WIP.

There are four memories that stand out from Miss Slater’s first year at the school regarding Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon. The first, appropriately enough, was from her very first day, when she arrived at Woodborough Comprehensive fresh from her NQT year. She had stood in the car park next to her car on a sunny September morning and looked up at the red-brick building, feeling apprehensive and excited all at once. A sleek silver car pulled into the space next to hers and she had smiled at Mr Newman, the headmaster, as she gathered her bag and coat, her day bright with possibility. It was then that she had heard the loud, angry yell of “EMRYS!” before being very nearly knocked flat by a tall, skinny dark haired boy who came tearing across the car park, scrambled over the low wall and vanished round the corner of the main building, shortly followed by another boy, blond this time, who vaulted clean over the wall, skidded on some wet leaves and then disappeared in pursuit. Miss Slater had stared, feeling a little shell-shocked. Next to her, Mr Newman slammed his car door shut and checked his watch in a resigned sort of way.

“8.20. I think that must be a record.” Then he flashed her a tired smile and made his way indoors leaving Miss Slater staring after him in bewilderment.

* * *

The second memory was from the same day nearly an hour later, when Miss Slater walked into her classroom for her first lesson to find the dark haired boy already there, sitting at the back of the room and scribbling away in an old, worn notebook. He looked a little worse for wear, his hair wet all down one side and a streak of mud on his face and shirt. Was he being bullied? She couldn’t help but wonder, even if Mr Newman had seemed so complacent about it all earlier. Miss Slater had just opened her mouth to speak when the door swung open and the rest of her pupils trooped in. Third in line was the blond boy from that morning, looking, Miss Slater noted, neither wet nor muddy. The boy sauntered over to his desk in the middle row, threw his bag down and smirked at the dark haired boy – who carefully finished whatever it was he was doing before he looked up and, to Miss Slater’s surprise, actually grinned, looking so immensely pleased with himself that the blond haired boy stopped in his tracks and began to look rather nervous.

“If you could take your seats please.” She called the class to order and they began sitting down, very cautiously in the case of the mysterious blonde boy and only after a quick look at the ceiling and under his desk. It was at that point that Miss Slater had finally pushed the projector screen away from the whiteboard to begin the lesson and been confronted with the drawing. A very large, very well done drawing, entitled ‘The Descent of Man’ in bold black lettering and featuring what was unmistakably the blond boy in the middle row, complete with enormous head, an expression of painful confusion and over-long arms, knuckles dragging on the floor.

By the time she had separated the two boys (Merlin and Arthur, she had soon learned), confiscated Merlin’s set of drawing pens for the day and sent Arthur to a seat on the other side of the room, the rest of the class had (nearly) stopped sniggering. Arthur spent the rest of the lesson red faced and sending glares back across the classroom to where Merlin sat smirking, and occasionally humming the theme tune to _The Flintstones_ – until Miss Slater had threatened him with detention.

It was, she thought later, a very memorable beginning to her teaching career.

* * *

After that there had rarely been two weeks gone by where she didn’t see or hear about _something_ involving those two. Sometimes it was simply passing them in the hallway as they stood sullenly waiting in the corridor outside the office of Mrs Hyde, their head of year. Sometimes it was stories recounted by her colleagues, or little more than a muttered aside or sarcastic comment in class, usually silenced by her best reproving look. And sometimes it was something like the great Eyebrow Incident of the spring term, where a weekend trip to London had resulted in Merlin and Arthur being marched off the coach on their return to school and their parents summoned. When Miss Slater had first seen them, shortly after their arrival, Merlin had appeared to be wearing a girl’s jumper and Arthur had a woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. All Mr Newman would say was that there had been “a series of unfortunate incidents involving Merlin’s suitcase and Arthur’s eyebrows.” Then Mr Pendragon had come to collect Arthur, silent and grim-faced, followed by Mrs Emrys who had emerged from the Head Master’s office and clipped Merlin soundly round the ear before marching him to the car and driving him home.

* * *

Strangely enough, the third incident that would always stand out in Miss Slater’s mind was the one where nothing happened at all. It was an ordinary Tuesday morning and she’d been crossing the yard when Arthur arrived, unusually late, slamming the door of his father’s car angrily, and looking decidedly upset.

“Arthur!” He stopped when she called him, but looked away as she approached. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine.” Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Er… Miss.”

The late bell had rung then and she’d let him go, frowning after him, at the hunched, defensive line of his shoulders. He was little better an hour later when he arrived for English – less pale perhaps but still far too quiet, sitting down without even his usual glance at his chair for any stray pointy objects or glue-like substances. She noticed one or two of his friends casting concerned looks in his direction but he ignored them. Then Merlin came in, perpetually late (apart from that first lesson she didn’t think she’d ever seen the boy on time for anything) and glancing at Arthur as usual, before he faltered, just slightly, and looked again, a small frown forming as he took in Arthur’s appearance, the way he was fiddling with his pen. And then… nothing. Merlin simply sat down, took out his copy of _Macbeth_ and the lesson began. For the whole forty-five minutes Merlin and Arthur worked quietly. Nothing was thrown, no sarcastic comments made, and even when Arthur, distracted, managed to read out Lady Macbeth’s lines instead of her husband’s, Merlin said nothing. It was a relief, certainly, but an unnerving one.

Of course the next day Arthur casually yanked Merlin’s chair away in passing as he was about to sit down for dinner in the dining hall, and Merlin retaliated with a handful of lasagne – so it was business as usual once more (and a week’s worth of detentions).

But Miss Slater didn’t forget.

* * *

The fourth thing came two months after the great Eyebrow Incident, one week after Arthur had first soldered Merlin’s locker shut with his father’s soldering iron and three weeks before Arthur’s games kit went mysteriously astray and he was forced to play in the inter-house match in a pair of threadbare gym shorts apparently designed for hobbits. Miss Slater had taken advantage of a free period to take a pile of marking outside, perching herself on one of the benches that lined the narrow path separating the English block from the football field. There was a match being played and she had been idly keeping score – not of the goals as such, but more of the number of times Merlin could fall spectacularly over his own feet, causing the football captain to become increasingly irate. Naturally, the captain was Arthur, so it was possible those two facts – Merlin’s clumsiness and Arthur’s growing annoyance – were closely related.

They had been playing for a good half hour when it happened. Someone, Andy by the looks of it, kicked the ball towards Merlin, who seemed to be paying even less attention than usual and so was completely unprepared for Mike to slam into him, knocking him to the ground, hard, and triumphantly sprinting away with the ball.

“Get up Emrys! You’re bloody useless!” Arthur was yelling across the field, looking red faced and furious. But Merlin didn’t move. Worried, Miss Slater put her books down on the bench, getting to her feet and shielding her eyes against the glare as she tried to get a better look. How hard had he gone down? From her vantage point he seemed to be sprawled un-moving on the grass. She could see the tiny figure of Mr Roberts, the games teacher, right at the other end of the field. She looked back at Arthur who was breathing hard and staring across the pitch.

“Get up idiot, he barely touched you!”

Still nothing. She was about to abandon her work completely and run over to help, when Arthur started walking across the pitch, ignoring the match playing on behind him, and speeding up the nearer he got to Merlin’s prone body. He didn’t look all that angry anymore. In fact he looked… scared.

“Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?” Arthur had dropped to his knees in the grass and was leaning over the other boy, hands gripping his upper arms. Miss Slater held her breath.

And then saw Merlin open his eyes and grin. “If I keep pretending to be dead, can you leave me out of the rest of the match?”

Arthur jerked back as if he’d been burned. “You bloody idiot!” His voice was loud, and angrier than Miss Slater had ever heard it. “I thought he’d—” He shoved Merlin hard as he got to his feet again, Merlin squinting up at him from where he’d been pushed, grin fading.

“It was only a joke.”

Arthur glared at him for a long moment, not speaking.

“I could pretend to be dead again,” Merlin said at last, in a small voice that Miss Slater barely caught.

Arthur just glared harder and then, very deliberately, kicked him in the shin – right where his shin pads ought to have been (but probably weren’t).

“Ow!” said Merlin immediately, proving her right as he scowled at Arthur. “What was that for?”

Arthur just turned and walked away.

A few minutes later she spotted him talking to Mr Roberts, who promptly called Merlin over and gave him ten laps of the pitch. Miss Slater doubted Mr Roberts had asked him to shoot death glares at Arthur every time he jogged past him as well, but Merlin seemed happy to do that anyway.

The End.


End file.
